Panem's First Volunteer
by Nightlock Ink
Summary: Liberty Free's sister is reaped, and in a rush, Liberty refuses to let her go. President Rosen changes everyone's lives with 7 words.. "Would you like to take her place?" OC, T because of character death
1. Take Her Place

**So! This is an OC story (my very first) and I like it so far! No beta, so all mistakes are mine. If you wanna beta me (I haven't gotten a reply from the 2 people I asked and I'm inpatient, either review or PM me! **

* * *

I wake up, and I can already feel a sense of dread in the air.

Naturally. What would be in the air on reaping day, happiness?

Hapiness my butt. "Liberty?" my sister Freedom asks, propping herself up on one elbow. She's 12, and God only knows what will happen to her fragile personality today. "What Free?" I ask. It's generally a shortening of her first name, but I can use it as a reference to our surname.

"Will I get reaped?"

The question hits me like a sack of bricks, and my words falter. I cannot tell her she was safe. Hope was not safe. She was her age when she was reaped. The first games. I shudder.

I do not answer. "See you later. I'm going to the Hob."

I slip out our door and watch the sun rise above the Seam as I walk. My feet slap against the dirt and stone, and the breeze sends my curls backwards. I did my best to wipe the dirt off my face from the square's brawl the other day, but what does it matter? I know I'm getting into a fight with another stupid Capitol worshiper.

I stop at the beginning of the Hob and pluck some weeds and grass that I will call greens. I step into the Hob, and immediately I feel a pang of relief. The Hob is filled with regulars, stocking up for their celebration tonight for when their child ISN'T sent to a death tournament. Everyone is buying, but I guarantee at leas 2 families' meals will remain untouched.

"HEY! YOU THERE! YOU DIRTY CAPITOL HATING MUTT!" A voice from behind jeers. I shove my bag full of the "greens" off me and spin around, eyes flashing.

An idiotic merchant boy stands before me, about 2 years older, 100 lbs. heavier, and at least a foot taller. And I can tell from his eyes, a heck of a lot meaner.

I calm myself, and pretend not to be angry. "What did you say?" I ask sweetly.

He smiles crudely. " I called you a-"

I'm on him before he can call out another word. "I heard what you called me," I snarl. I utilize his collar to drag him close to my face. "Back off, Hunger Games lover."

The whole Hob has gone silent (at least, as silent as it can get) and are staring at us. Hs face pales a bit at my jab, but he quickly recovers.

With a punch in the stomach.

I roar with rage, and charge at him. I pin him against a wall. "You probably have the minimal amount, hm? No one you knew was reaped! No one you loved was reaped. Newsflash-my sister was. WHEN SHE WAS 12! I was 11 years old. 11! I'm 15 now, and my little sister is 12. If she gets reaped, she's a goner." My voice has quieted a little, and I can fear the tears threatening to spill over.

" I can't tell her she's safe. She would die without the tesserae, and even I told her not to take it! She did! And she has a chance bigger than yours. Go die, muttation." I drop him to the floor, and with a bow to the crowd, I exit the Hob.

* * *

When I arrive home, word of the fight has spread. That goes to show you how fast word travels in District 12.

My mother, Foi, is fuming. "I told you, Liberty! No more fights!"

I reply with a sigh. She places her warm hand on my bruised shoulder. "Hope would be fighting with you, my _doux bébé._" she whinnies in the foriengh language they call French. Doux bébé means sweet baby, and her name, Foi, means faith.

She smiles and gives me a quick hug. "Go wash up, Liberty. You do not want dirt everywhere."

We are the only family who doesn't dress up for the reaping. We don't feel the Capitol deserves our finery. Still, my mother makes me wash up before every reaping. Grudgingly, I obey and slip back into my brown pants and tight knit darker brown tunic. My mother made it, since we cannot afford new clothes. I mostly get Hope's old clothes, because she was big and I'm small, but my mother makes us each a shirt on our birthdays. It's the best present you could get right before winter rolls in.

I brush out my dark curls, and pin them back. Capitol or not, we need to show those merchants that, no, all people from the seam aren't completely disgusting.

My father, Ryland, comes into the room and smiles. "You look just like Hope, Liberty."

Hope was a tall, bigger boned blond with Seam gray eyes. I am a short, slender girl with hair the color of coal and bright blue eyes. My father was living in merchant class as the mayor's son and he married my dark haired mother, who while she was in merchant class, has the traditional Seam look. Sometimes, I still wonder why we ended up in the Seam.

But, either way, I take this as a compliment and wrap my self around him. His eyes are sad, just as they were when I was 12. Hope was reaped on her 12th birthday, just old enough for the reaping, just old enough to die in the eyes of the Capitol.

I let go and my father sighs. "We better get going." He states gruffly, and his arm goes protectively around Freedom, and she smiles. "This year," she whispers. "Is our year with the President."

Once every reaping, the President goes to a District. She selects a District out of a hat. This year, she chose 12.

"President Rosen." He mutters. My father has a particular hatred for the tyrant that runs Panem, and openly despises the Capitol.

We walk down the cobblestone road of the square in silence.

* * *

The mayor will not be speaking today, just the President, and she walks up to the mic with such a sense of authority I can almost see why people follow her. Out of fear.

"Good day, citizens of District 12." She greets us icily. My heart flames in rage at the sound of her voice addressing us. "To the reaping of the 5th Annual Hunger Games." She names Panem's disasters, and when she reaches the Dark Days, her voice almost sounds cheerful. "And then, we reached Panem's Dark Days. District 13 rebelled, and you followed. All of the Districts surrendered, except for ONE!" She pounds her fist on the podium, and now her words sound tense and angry, like my musings of the Capitol's cruelty.

"District 13." She says, her voice making the crowd shiver involuntarily. Fear.

"Now, we have the Hunger Games, a fair way to punish the Districts for the uprising!"

She smiles. "And now our escort, Miss Flaire Rebok." Flaire, a tall, skinny woman in her twenties with electric blue and pink hair steps up. "Exciting!" She coos. "Ladies, prepare yourselves!" She smiles, and strides over to the reaping ball.

Her hand hovers over it, the noon sun glinting against her pearly white teeth and her bouncy, rainbow hair.

Her hand reaches in, and she whips out a name. The name of a tribute that will surely die. Who will leave on family with a hole in their hearts the size of the Capitol. A family like ours.

" Freedom Free?" she asks.

My heart stops. Freedom. Hope. Freedom. Hope. Freedom.

She starts her walk to the stage, and I intercept. "NO! SHE CAN'T GO! SHE CAN'T!"

I'm screaming, and in total hysterics. "NO! NO!"

The President puts her hand up as if to say halt. I grow quiet, and the only noise you can hear is my quiet sobs.

"What is your name?" She asks, studying me with a critical eyes.

"Liberty. Liberty Free." I say, my voice quivering.

She looks me dead in the eye. "Would you care to take her place?"

* * *

**I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter I've ever written... :)**

**And for the record, Hope DID die in the Games. **


	2. Never

**This is shorter, only because it was (for some reason)hard for me to right. Hope you like it even though the word count in less than 1000! -Nightlock aka Clove**

Tick Tock. The clock in the square marks my time. Tick Tock.

President Rosen's long, brown hair twinged with gray flies behind her, yet her face is squinty like she was wearing a too tight bun. Her piercing blue eyes stare into me, sending daggers into my heart. Her wrinkled skin is not soft and pale, it is cracking like leather, and whipped and whittled from so many alterations that you cannot tell her origin. Her pale, almost white lips are straightened into a thin line.

She is terrifying. She is expressionless. I hate her. I hate her so much. This woman killed my sister, my Hope. My older sister, the one who used to wrap her arms around me when I was scared. I am brought back to the day before the reaping, my last full day with her.

_We were snuggled under the scratchy covers of her bed, the one she shared with mother. Mother was asleep with Freedom, who's quiet, mousy sobs could not be heard over the howling of the wind._

"_Hopie?" I had asked, my 11 year old eyes glistening. "What is the Hunger Games? Mommy said he have to, and then she cried." She put her arm around me, even though we were only separated by a year, she always treated me like her own._

"_Lib," She whispered, stroking my hair, "Mother is just scared."_

_She always called Mommy Mother. _

"_Why?" I had called out. "Why is she scared?"_

"_Because I might die." She had answered. _

"_No!" I said, snuggling closer. "No you won't!" _

" _I could, Lib. They said that children kill!" Tears slipped down her paler, larger cheeks, landing on my tanned, delicate one. "They said children kill other children."_

"_You would never kill!" I had stated, proud of my sister. _

_She sighed, looking wise beyond her years. "Liberty, that's the problem."_

_She never called me by my real name. Always 'Lib' or 'Libby' or 'T'._

"_Hopie." I buried my face in her chest. "Don't leave!"_

"_Never." She told me. "Never."_

But she left.

She told me never.

When did never turn to now?

"We are waiting, Miss Free." President Rosen declares, snapping me back to the cold, harsh reality of today. "Will you take her place?"

I think for a moment. Hope would want me to save Freedom. To give her the chance she had never had.

"I will." I whispered.

"Louder, Miss Free." She said, her eyes glaring bullet holes into me.

"I will." I say, my voice increasing a few notches.

"Not everyone an hear you, Miss Free."

"I WILL!" I repeat, my voice raising to the top.

"Fair enough." She says, not giving me a fleeting glance as she turns to Flaire. "Do the males, please."

"Of course!" Flaire chirps, the bubblegum pink side of her wig flopping as she nods. "Of course!"

Her hand shakes lightly as she waves it over the shimmering glass ball. In careful writing, the name of each male in District 12 is written on at least one slip. Just like the girls, each boy has one chance to die.

"Alan Hoff!" She declares brightly, her smile shining under the florescent stage lights, ehich probably cost as much as a house in the Seam.

This is not good.

It is the boy from the Hob.


End file.
